


Arms Enfold Me

by Crollalanza



Series: The Captain and his Vice [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Sugawara first noticed about Daichi were not his intense dark eyes or half-cocked smile, but his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arms Enfold Me

**Author's Note:**

> Arms Enfold Me was written for a prompt on the tumblr blog imaginethehaikyuukids. The prompt was this:
> 
> Imagine that what Suga loves most about Daichi is is hugs. He sweeps Suga off his feet with his arms around Suga’s middle, pressing him to his chest and caving his shoulders protectively around him. Daichi’s hugs always make Suga feel warm and safe.
> 
> This is also compatible (sort of) with Splinters, but you don't need to read that for this to make sense. You might like it though :)

The first time he’d seen him, he’d noticed his arms. It wasn’t that Suga made a habit of staring at arms – he had no particular kink about them, or any feelings beyond what was normal. He supposed, looking back, that it was odd that they were the first thing he noticed (and not the brooding black eyes and cocked half-smile) but the thing was, at the time, Sawamura had been asked to hand out text books.  Suga had been rootling around in his bag for a pen, and when he’d looked up, because he’d sensed someone looming towards him, he’d seen Daichi’s arm propped on his desk.

There was a book in his hand, a rather tatty one with the cover falling off, and Sawamura had looked moderately apologetic about that, but Suga had shrugged. He didn’t mind about the cover, it was the content inside that was important, and an old book usually meant another student had used it and maybe left useful notes.

He nodded to Sawamura, who’d straightened up and continued his assigned task, and that’s when Suga realised something.

Sawamura Daichi had big arms. He wore the same uniform as the rest of them, the white shirt and stiff, black gakuran jacket, but where Suga’s sleeves had a modicum of space, Sawamura’s were stretched into wrinkles. He cast a surreptitious glance at the boy as he continued handing out the books. The jacket was new, so not a hand-me-down. It fitted properly on the shoulders, and (Suga shifted his focus slightly) around the torso. So Sawamura’s arms were muscular.

Suga shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about someone’s arms. He was in an English lesson not a - (was there a lesson where it would be acceptable to think about a boy’s arms? Art, maybe? There he could draw them, allow his eyes to study the lines of anatomy, the definition of muscle, the -).

“Sugawara-kun!” rapped their English teacher. “Open your books instead of staring into space!”

 

II

 

At volleyball club, Sawamura looked far more relaxed. He was eager to get involved, rolling up his sleeves to practise serves. Then, when the coach ordered the first years to take five receives, he stripped off the white sweater, and threw it to the side.

Suga tried not to stare because it couldn’t be right to be so fixated on someone else’s body, but his classmate and now club mate, did indeed had very muscular arms.  Even though he was receiving against boys with far more experience, Sawamura Daichi received everything they powered at him (to their frustration). Suga felt weak in comparison (although his serves had been fine) and didn’t remove his jumper.

After that first session, he decided to introduce himself properly, but the other boy had approached one of the third-years and was asking about practise schedules. Suga swallowed down the vague fear he felt inside of him at the thought of talking to his senpais, and hovered on the edge waiting for his opportunity.

But it never came. Sawamura, his face intense and respectful, engaged the third-year club Captain and listened to the barrage of information being fired at him. Then one of the second-years thumped Suga on the back, telling him first-years had to mop the gymnasium.

When he thought about it, he was pleased he’d been jolted out of his reverie. Sawamura Daichi had showed no sign that he’d recognised Suga from class, and could well have bitten his head off if he’d interrupted.

 _I’m a coward_ , he thought as he drove the mop up and down the gym. _That expression could just be a front._ But Suga wasn’t sure he could speak to the other boy without babbling or flushing.

 

II

They became friends quite quickly as it turned out, and started to practise together – before school, lunchtimes, after training, evenings, sometimes even at weekends in Daichi’s garden or at the park. They were joined by a third, a boy that at first glance should have intimidated the pair of them, but Suga had seen Asahi’s tentative footsteps as he’d stepped into the gymnasium and realised he was as intimidated by others impressions of him, as they were of him.

Azumane Asahi wanted to be an Ace. He had the power, and all the ability, and he’d spike, and spike, and spike until Suga dropped to the grass. The sheer strength of him was terrifying (if you didn’t know that under it all his heart was like glass, and his soul soft as bubbles).

“Come on, Koushi, get up,” Daichi urged. The look in his eyes was teasing, the use of Suga’s hated first name (‘I sound like a little kid!’) calculated to rile him.

 But not this time. “I’m tired and hot,” he moaned, almost out of breath.

“It’s summer.” Asahi towered over him, his shadow immense. “And you insist on wearing your sweater. What do you expect?”

“You’re right.” Daichi grinned. “You take one sleeve, Asahi, I’ll take the other - ” He broke off, his moves swift as he grabbed Suga’s arm. “PULL!”

Together they hoisted the sweater over his head, laughing hard. Suga didn’t protest, but slumped back on the ground and curled into a ball.

“Right,” Daichi continued. “Have a drink.”

Asahi stepped away, retrieved the volleyball and began to spike it against the wall.  His arms glimmered with sweat, but he didn’t weaken. The thud, thud, thud of the ball soothed Suga, reminding him that nothing was irrevocable, that there was always a chance as long as you stuck with it.

“I’m fine,” Suga grumbled. “I’ll come and toss for you.”

 

“Suga, you almost fainted,” Daichi muttered, joining him on the grass. He stretched across to his bag and as he did, his forearm brushed against Suga’s. “Your face is really pale.”

“I’m always pale,” Suga said, trying to sound scornful as if it didn’t bother him, but the sight of Daichi’s now tanned arm alongside his was making him feel ‘odd’ because Asahi’s didn’t have this effect.

“Eat this,” Daichi said, dropping a chocolate bar into his lap.  And then his hand landed on Suga’s shoulder , squeezing it as he levered himself to standing. “Join us when you’re better, okay?”

 

II

 

Asahi’s glass heart shattered when they lost. But their Ace wasn’t the only casualty, the shards of his anger pierced them all, and Suga wasn’t sure the wounds could ever heal. Daichi was convinced Asahi would work off his mood, assuring Suga that it was just a temper tantrum, and their Ace was due one.

“He’s skipped one practise, that’s all,” he snapped. “He’ll be back. Have some faith. And for fuck’s sake stop blaming yourself!”

But Suga was unconvinced. He hadn’t provided the tosses to send their Ace on his way. Tears welled behind his eyes and again he felt the inadequacy of his athleticism.  Instead of tidying the gym, all he wanted to do was head for home, running all the way, and not have to face anything anymore.

But he couldn’t do that to Daichi. He wouldn’t desert him.

 

II

 “Is this your reaction to losing?” Suga wondered.

Daichi shook his head. “It’s been building for a while,” he muttered, sounding uncharacteristically insecure. His arms were trembling, and that minute sign of weakness convinced Suga he was sincere. “Don’t leave me, Suga.”

Trailing his fingers up Daichi’s arms, moving at snail’s pace, his hands twined around Daichi’s neck. And then he kissed him.

II

 

“Hey, Koushi.”

Daichi’s voice is soft, teasing, although there’s nothing to laugh about now. Noya’s been suspended, Asahi avoids them in the hallway, and even Tanaka’s quiet. The team is as broken as the mop.

“I hate that name,” he mutters, and chucks the last volleyball back in the basket.

Then Daichi inches up behind him, and his arms slip around his waist, drawing him close, so close that Suga can feel Daichi’s breath on his neck.  He closes his eyes, trying not to drown in the anticipation, the hope that Daichi’s going to kiss him.

“I know,” he whispers, and his teeth begin to nibble Suga’s ear. “Sorry.”

 “You’re forgiven.” But his words are lost in a gasp as Daichi curls around him, his hands slipping under Suga’s shirt splaying out on his stomach.

He’s apologising for far more than a stupid name, and both know that. Daichi should have found Asahi before it was too late, talked him through whatever tunnel he’s in, and convinced him to return. Yet Suga doesn’t care. He doesn’t need any sort of apology from Daichi. He nestles back, tipping his head up, so Daichi’s lips dust his neck with kisses as his hands mould around him.

The team’s broken, but in Daichi’s arms, Suga mends and is whole.


End file.
